


The Woman, Meredith Stannard

by xylinafuriae



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 09:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylinafuriae/pseuds/xylinafuriae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, it was hard to remember that the Knight Commander was human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Woman, Meredith Stannard

Light from the lantern on Orsino’s desk danced over the edges and points of the various things scattered upon the surface, casting shadows and fine dark lines across his paperwork. He skewed his eyes at the tiny script, and let a deep sigh leave his lungs. He was sure that Meredith had been making the script smaller lately, knowing all too well he stayed late in his office to catch up on work left unfinished with the neglect of his chair in lieu of the care of his Tower.

            He often wondered why his office was separate from the Circle. It seemed counter-productive. His study, where he ostensibly was to spend the majority of his work-day, would do much better in the environment he was supposedto be caring for, near the people he was supposed to look after, protect, and serve. Yet here he was, mere feet away from Meredith at any given hour of the day. The Viscount, the marionette he was, surely approved of it. After all, Meredith was the puppeteer of the whole city, and he had no doubt that had she disguised the change under the pretense of “organization” the Viscount would have approved without so much as a second thought.

The tips of his ears twitched as a chill breeze blew in from the windows behind him; he pushed himself from his desk to stand and turned to shut them. He clicked his tongue with a slight roll of his eyes. A hairline fracture in one of the many facets of his window marred the glass, and as he mourned the loss of perfection in his abode he dragged a fingertip over the scar, deep in his thoughts as he traced it. Many would tell him to ignore the imperfection, as it was the only one on the window as a whole, but Orsino prided himself in his ability to keep his study the only room in Templar Hall that was not falling apart.

Wincing, he took his touch away from the glass, and lowered his eyes to his offended finger, a droplet of crimson slowly lolling down his skin. He pursed his lips, thoughtfully. He knew that people would take advantage of this opportunity. The simplest of cuts, he knew, could unleash the power of the Black City upon those who dared cross a Maleficar, make them pay for every narrow-minded and hateful slur and backhanded comment they ignorantly let leave their lips. A Maleficar could bring a Templar to their knees, instill the very fear in them that they used to twist Mages’ arms, crowd  _them_  like sheep in a pasture. All that power was right in the tip of his finger.

He knew more than anyone that it was forbidden, and for good reason. As First Enchanter, however, he had seen the bruises left on his apprentices by giant metal boots, heard the cries of girls he could not protect, could not stop the tears of mothers whose children were taken from them, all crimes against  _his_ children. All in the name of _order,_ a laughable fantoccini by Knight Commander Meredith and her asinine cabinet of idiots.

Though, he knew Meredith was not half as horrid as she seemed; the woman had laugh-lines around the edges of her mouth, echoes of a smile the world had undoubtedly never seen. He knew the woman had to laugh, had to smile to herself when a child chased a butterfly… Or, perhaps tripped. He was not one to judge.

He sighed, rubbing his fingers together and smearing his blood away. The room grew darker, and as he peered over his shoulder with a quirked brow he realized his lantern had gone out. Curiously, he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together once again and the light flickered back into life.

Blood magic.

Orsino’s eyebrows sewed together on his forehead. It was unpredictable, but so simple. With a flick of his wrist he was sure he could set the room ablaze, fill the entire hall with smoke and fire. Curious thoughts ebbed into his mind like a dam being opened, ideas piling on top of one another faster than he could comprehend them. What else could he _do_  with this? Could he, somehow, be the first to use his own life to do something for the goodwill of others, by some means escape the whispers of demons drawn to him from the fade by the energy locked in his body and his mind?  Could he free his people from the shackles forced upon them by the cold, unfeeling hands of those sworn to duty and order?

He moved back to his desk, sweeping an arm over the wood, his painstakingly organized paperwork flung into disorderly piles. Reaching underneath, he closed his fingers around and pulled up a blade, intricate and curved, the jade handle heavy in his delicate fingers. The arced edge in his hand shone his reflection back at him; his eyes were wider, brighter than he could ever remember seeing them before.

If he could make a small cut, just a little one, so Meredith was never the wiser… What could he accomplish? Could he, perhaps, mend the crack in his beloved window? Perhaps with a simple goal, nothing conspicuous, a demon would pass him by entirely, ignoring him in his old age and inconsequential work. All a matter of knowledge, just to _know_ , just to  _see_ …

His eyes flicked up to the door in front of him, and listened. There was silence, save for the nearly indistinguishable patter of rain on his closed window. He looked back at his hand once again; Meredith needn’t have any indication he was still in his study at all. He pressed the tip of his blade into the palm of his hand, watched his skin bend under the pressure, a divot digging into the flesh. Just a little cut, he need no more. Any more would arouse suspicion. Any more would entice darkness from beyond the plane of the living. Any more could …hurt.

Perhaps he thought too hard, focused on the face looking back at him in the reflection of the blade too adamantly; as lightning lit up the window behind him, soft light filling in the darkness, except for one spot. A spot with eyes, and teeth, and it moved–

“Maker’s breath!”

Startled, Orsino dropped the knife from his clutch, his shoulders jolting as she stood up to move, to get up, to do  _something_  to defend himself. He whirled around, his staff leaned on the stone wall just out of reach, falling away from him and onto the floor with a thunk in his haste.

“Get back, demon!” He would light it ablaze without the help of his staff, set the room on fire if he had to.

“Orsino.”

He winced. He knew that voice; suddenly what he was doing was forgotten, just like everything he aspired to do until she came to crush it in her fist.

“Meredith.”

“Do you have any idea of what time it is?”

He could tell this would not end in his favor. Like a guilty child caught scribbling on the walls by his mother, his head hung in defeat with a slump of his shoulders.

“Of course.” It was almost laughable. His thoughts of revolt, his dreams of insurgency, they all withered like a plant left in the shade at the sound of her cold, biting voice.

He heard her heels coming up behind him, and she took his abused hand in her own, lifting it to inspect it. He pressed his eyes closed tight, his heart skipping beats in his chest. Maker, she was sure to see… But he only had a little cut from the window, it–

“You’re bleeding.”

He opened his eyes to look down at his hand. Blood was pouring from his palm, where skin had previously kissed metal. In his start, he must have cut himself. Suddenly, he remembered—

“Meredith, I saw a demon.”

“There’s nothing here.” Her voice bit into his ears, and his eyes searched the wall. He knew it was there. He’d seen it, he watched it move to engulf him, to take him…

“I’m telling you,” he tried to take his hand from hers, but she was firm in her grip around his wrist, “there was – it was right there, it–“

“Orsino.” Her voice was quieter now, but still biting, as she placed her hand on his cheek. Her palm was soft, much more soft than  he had anticipated from her with the heavy swords she carried. “Orsino, there’s nothing there.”

His eyes rested on hers now, previously adamant in their search of something that hid from him, lurked just beyond view, taunted him… her eyes were such a clear blue, cerulean and bright against her porcelain cheeks, her golden waving locks framing her face. He saw something new in those eyes, something he had never seen before, something that made his heart skip a beat and his stomach lurch strangely in his gut. A deep and slow breath filled his lungs as she lifted her other hand to brush a lock of hair from his face. She had never touched him with both hands before, let alone be so gentle.

“Come sit down,” she requested, her voice gentle and a near whisper as she took his hand back in her own. “I’ll bandage your wound.”

He nodded, words escaping him as she took his other hand and walked him to the door and out, across the hall to Meredith’s office, bright and airy in contrast to his suddenly oppressive and disheveled study. He sighed as he was sat in her chair, his hand still held by her own delicate, soft fingers. He closed his eyes at the sound of her rooting around in a desk.

“There’s something wrong,” he shook his head as he spoke, wincing as she rubbed a salve of some sort into his wound that burned his flesh and stung under his skin.

“Of course there is,” she didn’t even skip a beat, “it’s the early hours of the morning and you’re yelling about demons and cutting yourself.”

“No, it wasn’t like that —“

“You’d better hope it wasn’t.” Regardless of not being able to see her, he could hear the disappointment in her voice. The worry… Her voice was soft and no longer sharp, more a gentle whisper that reached his ears. He was reminded of wood sprites and their gentle songs from his childhood with the sound of her voice.

He was surprised when she did not press any further, her fingers fleeting, just grazing is skin as she mended his wound.

“I don’t think you’re listening.” What was the matter with him? Why was he so intent on telling Meredith he was worried about demons that were clearly imaginary? Was he so startled, so distressed at his failure that he had fixated on it like a moth to a flame, fruitlessly focusing on it until he had beaten it into the ground or burned in its heat?

“I think there’s something wrong  _with me.”_

He heard her sigh but that gentle touch on his cheek returned, then quickly moved to his jaw as she clutched his chin to angle his head. Before he could open his eyes he felt… her lips. Her warm, soft mouth on his own, her gentle tongue prying his lips apart; he opened them willingly, pressed his tongue into hers. She quickly fought it away as she took in a breath, moving closer. He could almost feel her heat on him as he moved a hand to the back of her head, his fingertips loosely closing around the fabric of her hood, though he wished to touch those beautiful blond locks of hers. Before he knew it his fingers were on her cheek, her skin sleek under his fingertips, though they wandered to her neck, to her shoulder…

She pulled her lips away, and he opened his eyes to look at her. He saw a smirk, a quirk of her eyebrow, her lips twitching further into a smile. Meredith was smiling.

“No.” Her voice broke the maddening, neverending silence between them as he stared at her, his breath deep in his lungs as he tried to catch it. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

She patted his cheek gently before taking his unwounded hand in her own, and pulled to help him stand. Her lips were puckered as he stood, her lips meeting his own in a reassuring peck. With a flick of her wrist she tapped his rear with her fingertips, startling him just a bit, beckoning him to move away from her chair. She moved behind him and sat down, lifting her elbows to the surface of her desk, tenting her fingers.

“Off to bed, Orsino.”

“Right…” He looked her over with a grin he couldn’t help but let spread dopily onto his lips.  Somehow his feet carried him to the door and he opened it with one of his still-shaking hands.

“What were you  _really_  doing in there?”

The question did not come as an accusatory one, not a demand, not anything but curious.  Worried, perhaps. He turned on his neck to peer over his shoulder at her, and then shook his head.

“I was just thinking too hard, and thought I saw something in the shadows. My hands slipped.”

“Well, “ she leaned back in her chair and lifted a leg to cross over the other, “see what happens when you start thinking, Orsino?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” The grin still remained on his face, recognizing the tone of her voice.

“You saw what I did when you stopped, didn’t you?”

His cheeks flushed the slightest pink, and with a half-chuckle he turned his head from her, away from the woman who sat in the room with him. Not the Knight Commander, the _woman_ , who cared for him and stroked his hair and bandaged his wounds. Who reassured him there was nothing in the shadows, who smiled, who joked, who  _kissed him_ … The beautiful, wonderful woman, Meredith Stannard.

“I won’t do it ever again.”  He shook his head with another chuckle before leaving her study and  moving toward his chambers. 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I wrote this for my friend during finals week to make her feel better.  
> 2\. Best decision ever.


End file.
